


The Idiosyncrasies

by Lifotni



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: As One Does, F/M, Question the existence of god, Sexual Interfacing, and of life in general while getting laid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 00:16:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17735378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lifotni/pseuds/Lifotni
Summary: Ariel questions the existence of higher beings.





	The Idiosyncrasies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Plenoptic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plenoptic/gifts).



It's the little things.

The generally _unnoticed_ things are what living on this absolute hellscape of existence is truly meant for. The things we smile about. The things we’re all brought into existence to experience. The things we’re all meant to pursue for the sake of knowing happiness for at least a little while.

...Or maybe that's what Ariel liked to think that this was all about; bring some purpose and meaning to it all in spite of her suspicion that there truly wasn’t one and everything was running along its own clock, floating along, waiting.

Maybe someone was just out there toying with them, making every aspect of their creations’ lives their _own_ little things. Maybe they were making this all their own _something_ to enjoy for a hot nanosecond and only ever so once and while delve into their children’s meanderings. Sadist.

But maybe masochist was better fitting. They could just be writing the script and seeing how it sounded, playing it along on a key and listening to what they heard. Maybe they were writing a song about it; about how this world they’d made, the _existences_ they’d brought to life and how it all just kept on spinning.

Maybe they’re proud of us… It probably takes a lot to keep on spinning, and somehow, we’re all taking our own individual roles in keeping this place going.

Even if it was all falling apart.

Maybe they’d forgive us… They’d feel empathy for us over their own experience of know just what it takes to keep this thing going strong; this thing called life. Maybe its meant to be exhausting and to feel like its all never-ending yet simultaneously whirling by way too damn fast.

Maybe that's why life is about the little things; they happen all the time.

Or maybe she ought to just quit questioning every damn thing and live her fragging life, for she hoped sometimes that everybody she considered a friend -except for one- was right when they all accused her of being excessively pessimistic. They all, save for one, told her so and she’d honestly like it to be the case just to provide her with some reason. It could then just be a fault of the processor, the faulty state of her mind, that allowed her to find a way to question nearly everything with enough gravitas to send overpaid academy scholars running for their credits.

She’d read their books after all and could write her own on all the nonsense. She would even cite them just for the little minuscule thrill of it. The pettiness.

But why did she have to always conjure some way to perpetually doubt? Why couldn’t she trust blindly? Why did she have to _read_ into everything? Why did she have to interrogate its intentions; watch its every move?

She hadn’t known what she was asking when she first pondered those questions. Not till recently.

She took a deep intake… then out, in a dire need to calm her processor. She needed to focus.

The little things.

She hoped there wasn’t such a thing as too many little things, because they made life far too interesting at the moment. It was far too good to dwell on them. It was far too nice to analyze the intricacies of them.

The little things.

They were the way he walked towards her, having _finally_ become able to keep constant optic contact with her as he strode forward. His gaze no longer fell to her peds every few moments as she’d be waiting for him down the hall.

It's the music on their sound system and Orion's fingers tapping on her shoulder with the tempo. The way the pad of his index digit would swirl in an oval, flattening it against her armor as he would make the shape wider… smaller… back and forth, followed by, “Quit that.”

It's the way he still got nervous. Nervous to touch her, to ask her for something he would so very _falsely_ consider self-serving. All because he knew none of his requests would ever be followed by her telling him _no._ Nothing he could ever formulate in his processor would be something she’d turn down.

It's was the way he had gained his courage, his resolve, bit by nanoscopic bit concerning how he went about being within proximity to her. Near the start, there were just nudges at first, things like putting his arm around her seat beside him or opening his hand for her to take. But now he was making strides, and it eased her spark that she no longer needed to grant him permission just to touch her.

It was the way she caught him looking at her, and when he finally stopped averting away. The way he smiled instead, instilling her to do the same despite every ounce of her own resolve to withhold the satisfaction from him. It was that little asymmetrical smile she received.

It was how fast they both had learned. It was how they learned what one another favored, noting each other’s behavior to this and that. This is where the _idiosyncracies_ came in.

Idiosyncrasy. It was her favorite word. They were her favorite things about him; little things.

It was the first time he came up behind her and put his arms around her waist as she was warming her morning energon, wrapping them about her midsection and being beyond her comprehension of the word _gentle_. It was his mouth on her neck and his smile that she could only feel in the moment.  It was that he finally didn’t ask first.

It was laughing in the berth far past the time they had ought to have been in recharge already, falling into near hysterics over some ludicrous attempt at a joke one of them had made or a story being told that had previously been withheld.

It was laughter in itself that proved it to her that, yes, it truly is all about the little things.

Maybe it was odd, an idiosyncrasy even, but Orion was her very first partner that she had laughed with while they were in the very midst of interfacing. Most would probably condemn laughing, giggling, making jokes while wrapped up with each other, in each other, and would probably call it a mood killer. But not then.  

It was over the events of the night before they had finally convened at home, not wasting a moment on hesitation. They had left a party she had brought him with her to and slipped out -hopefully- with no one noticing. They were just overcharged enough to stop at the fifth level of the apartment complex and halt everything, make time _stop_ , as he pulled her forward by servos on her waist and she brought his neck down for a kiss that had no business being administered on the seventh and eighth step of the staircase.

They’d been stifling laughter when she blindly unlocked the door, her optics far too busy and memory having to take control to press the keys on the pad. They’d been too gone to even think about caring too slagging much about taking some time to settle down when she let him pick her up. She laughed at his triumph, for he had done it without asking, not hesitating as he pulled her close.

Her soft, overcharge inspired giggling during her recount of a friend's reaction at the party was hitched away when her aft was placed right onto her berth that hadn’t met the qualifications to be _theirs_ yet.

“Hot damn, look at you,” she had grinned up at him, scooting back on the berth and accurately guessing what he was after with familiar ease. Her legs were still around his waist, set on his hips for some exiguous support.

And then he had the high-grade induced audacity to pat his own shoulder as he relayed to her that she was _exactly_ correct -as if it was to ever be a surprise.

“Up.”

Legs went up on his shoulders without havering, and paneling retracted without a moment of vacillating. Gasps interrupted conveyed assumption of consent as her hands went down to his helm to bring him closer just as he had gotten settled.  A pillow was thrown down for knees that she heard _thunk_ down upon the floor.

He enjoyed it, probably loved it, when her legs parted wider and he earned himself more room and fit his mouth even closer.

It's a process, this she knew, to finally gain familiarity. He wasn’t shy, despite what so many thought he was with their unsolicited characterizations. Orion was not and had _never_ been shy. He was, however, overwhelmingly respectful and far too humble for his own good.

Chivalrous and humble to a fault was what led too many to the false assumption he was shy and that he was diffident. Too many thought he was timid… self-effacing, unassuming, unpresuming, meek, unconfident, unassertive, too reserved, too withdrawn, _introverted_ (that one was true), inhibited... insecure. No.

Orion wasn’t any of these, and so very slowly, she had come to the realization, the epiphany, that that was why she’d fallen in love with him.

It was probably a bit backward though, to fall for someone for what they weren’t, but they both had never really had a good relationship with what was deemed conventional, and they’d long settle for the fact that they weren’t going start making amends with the traditional any time soon.

She laughed softly, quietly when he kissed the inside of her thigh, mouth wet as he trailed it back down to the junction between her hip. Servos larger than her own held her legs in place, tightening when she moved and loosening when she tensed.

Kissing him was still her favorite, but maybe because that took the least amount of effort for learn. Interfacing was a process and oral was a procedure; her sending his processor reeling when she got on her knees the first time for him and then when he got on his knees the first time for her had all been operations with _oratory_ guidance. But kissing had been natural.

And he knew she loved it best, to kiss him, so that was probably why he was so vigorous about it for her. For those moments, all she could care for was how his mouth was against hers, not where his hands were, where their hips were, or where _her_ hands were.  She loved it when it would get sloppy and unprecise, because then she knew he wasn’t putting any thought to it anymore. She _loved_ it when he wouldn’t even kiss her lips, missing them all together and rolling along with it by finding her chin, the bridge of her nose, her shuttered optics, her audio.

The servos on her waist were warm as they moved her up, instigating her to help him as she caught the berth with her heels and slid back towards the headboard. Lips found her neck and her servos wound down his back, feeling along his spinal strutting till she reached further and grabbed his aft.

The grip on her waist suddenly veered to assail her hips, and he jerked her upwards so to deposit her aft onto the top of his thighs.

“ _Look_ at _you_ ,” she practically sung, offering her idea of praise for the sake of two implications.

A practice move or two, then three, then several more from him and then a spoken tease had inspired and pull an exasperated request from her for him to continue. Servos took hold of her own and press them down, lacing their fingers together. She squeezed them, equalizing the power balance.

He kissed her again, slowly, bothering with making it so very ironically chaste at first and instigating more love-drunken laughter when their noses collided. Then sudden, shallow shuttered gasps interrupted them when he pulled his hips back and found her.

Slow. He was always gentle, taking their time as array pushed forward, onward, and hers stretched to accommodate him. He was _always_ gentle on entry, as per how he knew she wanted it. Even if it wasn’t admitted outright, he knew they both still held this to be far too sacrosanct to dare rush it; to have the audacity to hasten it and not consider the physical and the emotional aspect of every moment. He always looked her in the optics when he could.

It was the only few nanoseconds they were silent, and he would still once he was hilted within her, filling her completely, and he seemed to take it under deep consideration before he would proceed no matter what position they were in. Always patient for him, she found the value in this idiosyncrasy, loving it as he let the consummation settle for those few moments.  Then he finally began moving for her.

“What’s funny?” he smiled against her lips after the first few entries, breaking an especially wet kiss to press their forehelms together. They ground against one another as he moved within her and let go of one of her servos to wedge his underneath her helm and the berth. His thumb rubbed up into one of the spaces where her neck began -a little pocket between cables and hallowed lifelines.

“You,” she answered simply. She began moving her hips along with him, joining his tempo, and gyrated tediously for him as he moved back, then forward. He let her other servo go and she placed them upon either side of his helm, holding his face in place for her perusal. Her elbows were chocked between his shoulders and her chest, fitting perfectly. “You can’t help it…”

“No,” he nodded against her, not needing any context for what she was referring to. He took hold of one of her thighs and hitching it further up his waist, changing the angle just the slightest. Intakes were deep, his optics half shuttered as a smile remained ever stagnate upon his lips. “No, I can’t…”

She held him close, servos eventually embracing him even closer to her. His height was above her own, her optics at level with his shoulders when standing, but that allowed for his chest to press against her own when they were in a position such as this. Her face dug into his neck, taking his natural scent mixed with that of the wash he used and it flooded her processor with the memories of showers in the morning together when he’d lather it on a cloth.

He kissed her again, lazily, leisurely and in disjointed tandem with his deliberate thrusts. He was soft, making love to her mouth just as sweetly as he was to her frame and whispering to her between breaths. Her replies were just as quiet, meant for his audios and his alone to hear as they held a lover’s conversation.

“You can go faster…” she whispered in a breath, almost taking the proposal upon herself as she increased the pace of her ever constant gyrations.

It was quiet, but she could hear their connection and the wet sounds they were creating. She tried not to tense as he occupied her entirely, for he had mistaken it as pain before.

He shook his helm, the ducked down to kiss her neck, nibbling at a collection of cablings. He knew the request was her thinking for him and for him to give into the smothered instincts that had been begging of him to _speed up_ , but he did not relent.

The sound system on the other side of the studio apartment was playing, its audio dimmed but just loud enough that he recognized the song. An experienced, deep voice sang, drawing out the lyrics with nonpareil inflection.

 _...The fourth, the fifth, the minor fall, the major lift_ …  

One of his servos fell to her aft, gripping it as the other took her shoulder and she held on fast as he lifted her with him and he sat them up on the berth.  

“Sweetspark… ‘Rion-” she faltered, clutching onto him fast with arms around him and grasping at his shoulders when he didn’t lean back as she expected. Instead, he kept her dipped down, holding her up and in place with one servo at the small of her back and the other behind her neck.  

“Hold on,” he adjured just before crashing his mouth against hers, muffling her moan as he finally, _finally_ picked up the pace.

Her optics shuttered, rolling upwards before closing as his glossa found hers. His servos fell downward, confident that she didn’t need their assistance as he took hold of her hips.

_Its a cold and broken…_

No, it wasn’t. The song played on, but their audios just caught the occasional lyric.

The kisses broke, forehelms meeting once again as their dimmed optics met. They moved together, in unison, in union as their movements sped up and as the little nothings they whispered back conveyed even more passion to one another than before -than _ever_.

She gasped between closed denta, hissing with her own voice intermingled as he took her deeper, stronger, and with a determination to match. She realized that he really did know the look in her optics. He knew what it meant when her hands would clench onto him, how her thighs would tightest around him and what her vocals would convey when he was bringing her close.

“Love you… Love you,” he whispered.

_...It's not a cry you hear…_

Her smile faltered and her denta clenched as she held herself against him moments before she came, feeling the first wave as he spread her legs even further and buried deep. Her face fell into his neck as her frame tensed and he _kept moving_.

 _...It’s not somebody who’s seen the light_ …

No. No, it's not. There's no sign that tells you this is it; there is no voice that assures us… And maybe that was the intention and we ought to rely on instinct more and quit holding back.

They’re probably proud of us. There was probably not even a light to see… Maybe that's what living is for. Maybe the light is the little things, like the way his lips parted and his jaw quivered when he was so very close.

Ariel kissed him as he came, roughening it herself and stifling his groan as he held her fast. His thrusts had become sharp and timed, spaced out as he jerked into her and withdrew so very intentionally. The rush drove his servos to pull her near, clashing their hips together and stilling deep within. Their chests pressed together, sparks crying with unseen light that conveyed only through their optics and the tips of their fingers and only through their lips as they met again.

She held him as he came into her, feeling him tense under her servos as she secured him close.

“Love you…” she whispered for him into his audio as he groaned into her neck, stifling the sound as the climax eased its grip. “Love you, love you… Love you.”

He set her down onto the berth, resting her head on a pillow he pulled over and circled his hips just a few times more against her, finishing gradually and letting it linger.

She let him set a portion of his weight above her, letting him guess what was too much. They tangled their legs together, and she bumped her heels against the backs of his knees.

He took her servo and muttered something softly as he nuzzled her, and a pause between music tracks let her distinguish it.

She smiled, for it wasn’t the first time he had asked. “I know,” Ariel replied. “I think I will... I'll not be long.”

Ariel sighed and shuttered her optics when he held her closer.

Yes, they're probably proud of us. Would they let us find the light if they weren't? 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading <3
> 
> Now, if you all don't mind me, I'm going to start (not panicking) getting ready to go across the nation.


End file.
